


Through Halls of Blood and Night : Inquisition

by Nightglade (Judy_The_Dreamer)



Series: Through Halls of Blood and Night [5]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Song-inspired, short fiction, this is all over the place honestly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-03
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-11-08 14:38:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 3,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11083659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Judy_The_Dreamer/pseuds/Nightglade
Summary: A collection of drabbles and one-shots that belong in my Dragon Age AU that spans from Origins to Inquisition. This collects all the fiction that takes place in the timespan of Dragon Age Inquisition or just before that.*For more information on the characters, see the primer at the top of the series.**These are not posted in any chronological order, but a reading list will be made available soon!**These are mostly written for character practice, so there's a lot of space to fill up the blanks.*





	1. The Ruins of Us (Artanis & Cullen)

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place a couple of months after the Mage Rebellion, when Cassandra and Leliana come to Kirkwall to interrogate Varric. Artanis Trevelyan is a full-fledged member of the Knight Enchanters at this point and Cullen has been handling what remains of the Circle. This is their first meeting in about ten years.
> 
> This one-shot was in part inspired by the lyrics of 'The Light' by Sara Bareilles. Give it a listen if you have the time!

_In the morning it comes, heaven sent a hurricane_  
Not a trace of the sun but I don't even run from rain  
Beating out of my chest, my heart is holding on to you

_*_

Months had passed and still the courtyard of the Gallows was covered in debris. Pieces of shattered statues, ripped banners and broken weaponry littered the ground, only receding where a path had been cleared. Artanis felt distinctly unsettled when faced with the evidence of the great clash between Mages and Templars. The staff on her back and spirit hilt at her side felt heavier than ever. _Not my responsibility, but such a waste._

The clanking of metal on metal announced the arrival of a contingent of Templars, carrying supplies from the still damaged parts of the keep to the more structurally sound tower. Unwittingly, Artanis smiled at the sight of them. They seemed very naked to her without most of their armor, helmets put aside. A deliberate show of vulnerability towards those few Mages which accompanied them. Artanis let out a wistful sigh. Mages and Templars working together towards a common goal of safety. _As it should be. If only the rebels and rogues on the battlefields all over Thedas could feel the same sense of common purpose._

She herself had come far in her understanding of the stern circle guardians. For every one that styled themselves a righteous jailor, there were those that served out of faithful duty to a higher ideal. Though the line between the two was paper-thin. That faith could turn to wrathful anger at the status quo in less than a second. A pang of sorrow shot through her at the thought of her very own misguided Templar. Shy, stuttering Cullen. A fresh breath of air among the stuffy and distant Templars she'd known in her early childhood. It had made the sting of his anger all the more painful. She wondered where he was now, if he still stood by what he'd said that night in Ferelden.

_They deserve to die. All of them._

Once upon a time she'd cried into Wynne's shoulder when she remembered those words. Now they filled her with a hollow regret. _I should have tried harder._

 _‘You did all you could, dearest.’_ Perseverance touched her mind with his characteristic calmness. _‘Those who refuse the opportunity of mercy dig their own grave.’_

She wished she could agree. To hide her misgivings from her teacher, she turned instead to study the occupants of the gallows again. The steady stream of Templars and Mages was somewhat dying down. Artanis entertained the idea of joining them, she could use something to divert her thoughts away from the gloominess of the past. She made to get up from the toppled statue that she'd been perched upon, but halted when she heard the distinct approach of possible reinforcements. Going by the cadence of steps and raised voices, Cassandra was finishing up whatever business she had with the Knight-Captain.

"How could you refuse?" Frustration gave the voice of the Seeker a sharp edge. "You wish to leave the order, yet refuse giving up the responsibility that comes with it. Sometimes you need to make a choice, Cullen!"

Just like that Artanis froze to the core. _Cullen?_  

"I only refuse to give up my responsibilities here, because there clearly is no alternative authority to aid these people if I leave." His voice sounded older, more tired, but she recognized the timbre and accent. The echo of their steps became louder and Artanis wished she'd taken Varric up on one of his stealth potions. She subconsciously reached for her spirit blade, but knew, even without touching it, that she had no charges left and Fade Cloak was not an option. Mercifully, their voices came to a rest just on the other side of the ruined statue. Cassandra was barely refraining from stomping her feet in anger at this point.

"I told you. When the Divine declares the Inquisition at the Conclave measures will be put in place."

In contrast Cullen's tone had taken on a fatalistic quality. "They will come too late."

 _Oh maker, he is still a pessimist._ Despite the heaviness in his voice Artanis found herself almost smiling at the familiarity of his sentiment. Instead of hiding herself behind a convenient pile of debris as she'd planned, Artanis inched closer to their position, gripping the side of the statue to peek at where the arguing pair was standing. She was out of luck, however, as Cullen’s back was turned towards her position. _Damn._

"Some trust can go a long way, Cullen." Artanis sucked in a startled breath as a familiar voice piped up behind her. Aunt Leliana's tendency to appear out of thin air never had ceased to terrify the younger woman, which had led to a good amount of inside jokes at Artanis's expense. What was definitely worse though - and infinitely more embarrassing for the Mage - was that Leliana never failed to cash in on her advantage. So the fact that she did so now should perhaps have surprised her as much as it did.

Artanis didn’t properly register the hand snagging in the belts of her armor before she felt herself dragged from her hiding spot. Completely horrified she toppled over the uneven ground. Thankfully, Leliana's firm grip kept her from wildly stumbling into Cullen's back. Though it did not save her from being way too close for comfort when she recovered her footing.

Cullen Rutherford was not as she remembered him. _Well,_ Artanis mused, _ten years and being just a child at the time can do that to a memory. At least I'm taller now._

"Artie?" Cullen had apparently exchanged his frequent stutter for breathless surprise in the years she'd not seen him. Some part of her mourned the loss of the higher ground confidence had given her in their previous interactions. She wondered if she should let him know the anger she hadn’t been able to rightfully express back then.

 _‘You're beyond Circle Mage and Templar posturing, dearest,’_ Perseverance soothed. _‘Be the bigger person.’_

Meeting Cullen’s eyes suddenly became difficult - flashes of their shared past weighing her courage down - but she managed it in due course, and almost immediately wished she hadn't. Wynne had once told her that the measure of a man's soul could be seen in his eyes and that they were the only reliable method of perceiving personal change. The steady gaze that met hers now could only be an illustration of the old Mage's wisdom. They took the wind right out of her sails.

Caught up in liquid amber and stark relief, she greeted him back just as breathlessly. _"Hello, Cullen."_


	2. A Morning Stroll - Amun & Artanis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tentative friendship is struck up at the expense of the Inquisition forces.
> 
> Featuring Amun Adaar & Artanis Trevelyan; implied Cullen/Artanis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love some feedback and comments on here! Hope you enjoy some winter in the middle of summer.   
> Also, not inspired by a particular song, so no lyrics this time. ;p  
> Not-betaread. All mistakes are my won. (Feel free to point them out though.)

The first time Amun Adaar had stepped outside of the Haven Chantry the beauty of the scenery had disappeared entirely behind the reality of chains and a demon-spitting hole in the sky. The second time he’d been bewildered by the duties laid before him. (Not to forget he’d accidentally scratched his horns against the War Room’s door just a few minutes before, and was still trying to ignore the itch the scrape caused.) The third he’d been chasing Templars and Mages around the Hinterlands like a man possessed…  The following missions had always ended drinking in Haven’s homely tavern or exhausted on the mattress at the cabin he shared with Camniel. By the time a fine winter morning without responsibilities finally dawned, Amun felt like he’d been stuck in a patterned loop for months. Breaking free of being the Herald for a while did leave him distinctly like a fish out of water – a Qunari out of battle? – now he had no well-defined pattern of expectation to live up to. What manner of conduct did Josephine expect him to put up when faced with the faithful in his private sphere? Sure, Amun could continue playing the straight-laced Herald, but he’d much rather be the charming mercenary his sister had loved to get up to all kinds of mischief with. His facial muscles could barely remember how to form a smile after his last appearance before the Mothers.

_Well,_ Amun shrugged as he sucked in the fresh mountain air. _No point to figuring out a battle plan without ever leaving your door!_

Within Haven’s walls everything seemed to be business as usual. Amun liked the quiet bustle on any good day and he considered just sauntering around a bit to get a hang of the atmosphere first, but he suspected that might effectively deaden any further form of adventuring before he even began. Many people called the Qunari war-oriented barbarians, but they were creatures of comfort too. A stroll through the barracks would be a nice compromise, Amun figured. Perhaps he’d get a peek at what was cooking in the smithy. A new weapon could be as exciting as a well-timed present after all.

Once outside the gates Amun was greeted by a wholly unexpected sight. To his right the collection of tents and barracks stretched out across the lakeside, but instead of the daily sparring exercises playing out before him, much of the action had shifted to the docks where he could hear many voices shouting and the clatter of water. On approach Amun discovered he must have walked into the world’s most awkward swimming lesson. Most of the troops were either shivering in their underclothes on the pier or clinging to the rocks at the lakeside. A streak of gold in the early sunlight betrayed Cullen’s position in the water. He, at least, looked totally at ease in the wintery lake – Fereldans and their bloody disregard of weather – probably assuring the hesitant soldiers that the water was just fine once you got in. Good luck with that…

The only person keeping hold of her clothes and her dignity clearly shared his thoughts. “Are you sure you don’t want me warming up the lake, Cullen?” Knight-Enchanter Trevelyan offered, her voice clear as a bell in morning light.

“If you coddle them, they’ll never learn!” Cullen scoffed in dissent.

“It’s your mutiny!” The Mage stowed her staff away behind the crates she’d perched herself upon and contented herself with watching the drama unfold. Amun spotted the amused curl at the corner of her mouth and decided he could make some time for a social call. Besides the intimidation factor of magic, Artanis Trevelyan seemed to be a pretty decent person. Not to mention that Cullen approved of her maybe a bit more than professionalism required, as Cassandra had informed him between War Room sessions.

“Care if I join in?”

Knight-Enchanter Trevelyan quirked an eyebrow in greeting. “Are you planning on acquiring the fine skill of swimming, Herald? Or were you just implying you would like to sit next to me?”

Amun side-eyed the freezing water of the lake and shuddered. “I’d rather not.”

Trevelyan patted the crate beside her in invitation. “Then please join the actual fun, your worship.”

Safely situated on the crate, Amun felt somewhat safer discussing the water activities playing out before them. “For all the resources we’ve accumulated these past few months, this feels very…”

“Basic?” Trevelyan suggested helpfully.

“Yes, and entirely too freezing.”

Her smile came out fully this time and Amun marveled at how straight the teeth peeking out were in contrast to the scars crisscrossing her pale face. “I would have thought that big, bad Qunari mercenaries could handle a bit of cold. Seems I’ve been misled in my beliefs.”

Amun chuckled. “Happens a lot these days. Though a warm hearth and ale afterwards would do the trick.”

“Who wouldn’t be amenable to that.” Trevelyan sighed. “I fear comfort might still be a long ways off though.”

Amun dared a commiserating pat to her shoulder. “ I wouldn’t despair just yet, Lady Enchanter. I always take things at a 50/50 chance and have come out rather decently if I say so myself.”

The Mage stilled under his hand and regarded him quietly for a moment. “You know what? With a Herald that’s both a Qunari and a philosopher, things may take a very unexpected turn.”

“As long as those turns are not entirely unwanted, I can live with that.”

This time her smile was even broader, pulling at the scars, yet more bright than disturbing. “Hear, hear!”


	3. A Mother's Concern (Morrigan)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A mother ponders her young son.
> 
> No original characters are mentioned.

Morrigan had discovered very early on that raising a child with an Old God’s soul often called for unorthodox parenting techniques. The fact that her own upbringing had been less than conventional seemed to be more and more a blessing in disguise as the years went by.

She and Kieran were always on the move, though. A variety of lands and social situations provided a valuable teaching ground for her little mage. At nine he’d certainly acquired a gravitas she herself had lacked at that age.

If only the dreams could be halted for a while, so her Kieran could live life like a normal child his age. Just having fun and not pondering the secrets that lingered deep under his feet. For all knowledge she’d assembled over the years, Morrigan had only failed in this particular field of parenting. Sometimes the guilt made her throat close up and she had to remember that she’d lived up to all her other promises throughout the years.

At least there was a security and trust between her and Kieran that Morrigan herself had never shared with Flemeth. In that aspect she’d achieved more than her mother ever could have.


	4. The Magister

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First in a two-parter, this takes place around the first Warden/Halamshiral mission. Please leave kudos or a comment if you enjoyed!
> 
> Featuring Amun Adaar (Qunari Champion).

Without doubt Amun Adaar could claim that Dorian Pavus was the flashiest individual he’d ever had the pleasure of knowing. The Tevinter practically pranced through life despite – or perhaps in spite of – his vilified heritage and magic. Adaar was on familiar terms with multiple Mages who unapologetically made use of the gift they’d been given, but the fierce happiness that brightened Dorian’s face after a well-executed spell gave the Qunari a weird feeling of weightlessness.

After some time fighting along the Altus – Dorian got such an irritated look in his eyes when anyone called him a Magister, that Amun had sworn never to incur his anger in that way – Amun began to notice that Dorian’s exhilaration was quickly taking the form of some sort of folie à deux.

Whenever the Qunari heard the triumph in the Mage’s voice, his hits came down harder and surer, his shield suddenly became lighter. And Amun, mercenary from the top of his head to his toes and by no means a novice in bloodshed, noticed this easy in battle sprung from a curious confidence he’d never known before.

In the quiet after every fight when he pondered this change, Shokrakar’s fond words returned to him as if from a dream.

_I’ve never known more joy in the dance of victory and death, then when I had my soul dancing beside me._

And if Amun smiled just a bit more fondly at Dorian after remembering, then that was absolutely fine.


	5. The Mercenary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connected to The Magister.
> 
> Featuring Amun Adaar.

_Entirely too distracting_. Fasta vass, that was way too light of a manner in which to express his current situation.

Dorian eyed the Inquisitor’s strong back as he shouldered them a path through thick foliage, plated horns glinting silver in the midday sun. In all physical aspects Amun Adaar resembled the brutes his Tevinter upbringing had taught him to loathe, so much even that Dorian had initially recoiled from getting too close to the Qunari.

Amun had respected his distance, to Dorian’s surprise, but never spoiled an opportunity to show the Mage the goodness that dwelt under that fearsome appearance. The Qunari ever assisting those in need, no matter how insignificant their sorrows were in comparison to the Breach. And so, even before Haven got destroyed by the Elder One, Dorian had found himself unconsciously gravitating towards the gentle giant. Now, they rarely left each other’s side in battle.

Dorian flushed at the memory of how easily Amun’s fighting style had adapted to the flair of his magic, seamlessly working together to dispatch every last one of their enemies. The Mage, though used to a more mistrusting kind of attention, basked in the attentiveness that the Inquisitor held for his strength and weaknesses. Under that amber gaze, Dorian rediscovered the brilliance in his magic he’d lost sometime during the horror of his father’s actions.

Every day he grew more astounded at how easy it felt to just be him and abandon the shield of rumours and expectations he’d been forever bombarded with. Maybe because that shield was slowly being replaced by the Inquisitor’s?

Again, Dorian quietly wondered if he could borrow some more Amun’s intoxicating confidence. It had brought them far in strife, and he suspected it could bring them even further in more personal matters. In a bed preferably, though Dorian wasn’t too proud to admit he’d take whatever he could.

That night at camp, the Mage dreamt of strong arms and a deep, delighted laugh.


	6. Place in the World (Artanis)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Featuring some of Artanis Trevelyan's backstory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by 'Ain't it Fun' by Paramore.

_"Ain't it fun living in the real world?_  
 _Ain't it good being all alone?_  
  
_Where you're from_  
 _You might be the one who's running things._  
 _Well, you can ring anybody's bell to get what you want._  
  
_You see, it's easy to ignore trouble_  
 _When you're living in a bubble."_

_Ain’t It Fun by Paramore_

Sometimes Artanis wondered if she’d followed the wrong part in life. A deep-seated worry in her bones that only abated on the battlefield when she was knee-deep in blood and death, when she defended that was precious to her.

Yet the ten years she’d put between her and a tower full of nightmares could not change the doubts she still carried about where exactly she belonged. How could it not when the answer changed depending on who you asked?

The Chantry claimed she belonged in their gilded prison with all her robed brothers and sisters.

_We share nothing but the fate the Maker forced upon us._

Her commander told her every day they could not miss her on the battlefield.

_Stand strong, Knight-Enchanter._

Her family back in Ostwick had firmly pointed her to the barbarian tribes of Avvar.

_Your father called them kin, so should you, disgraceful child!_

Cerwynn and Alistair sincerely called her theirs.

_You can always come home to us, though we can’t give you kingdom nor position._

And now the Divine expected her to become part of this thing that was to be greater than any single purpose or identity. Perseverance had liked those words, the quiet ambition behind them.

_Restoring order is paramount. If we give our lives, we must do so wholeheartedly._

Among their whirlwind of expectations was it any wonder a young mage might lose her way?

When it came to it, she was only a girl with the whisper of a spirit following in her wake.


	7. Quite the Ride I (Camniel & Iron Bull)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Featuring Camniel Lavellan & Artanis Trevelyan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a two-parter for now, but I'll be writing more about these two soon!

The first time Camniel’s sensitive ears caught the phrase ‘riding the bull’ at the tavern, he’d nearly spit out his drink in disbelief, saved from embarrassment only by Artanis’ covertly handing over a handkerchief under the table.

His eyes flitted to the hulking giant – a Qunari, he reminded himself – that had just blatantly propositioned the barmaid he’d had sitting on his lap during most of the evening, then quickly down at the bulge tenting those ridiculous pants.

How could anyone?

Camniel’s ears must have been growing red by that point as he tried not to picture how that thing would completely wreck his own elven frame. Humans were generally considered more daring between the sheets than the Dalish, but Camniel considered the buxom barmaid brave for even entertaining the notion of bedding the Iron Bull.

She didn’t seem worried though, a delighted peal of laughter falling from her lips as the great mercenary leader leaned in to nuzzle her neck. A flare of something hot ran down the elf’s spine and he swiftly turned away from the sight, lest someone pick up on his mental wanderings.

Next to him Artanis giggled and held his hand consolingly. For a moment he wanted to pull away, too flustered for words, but then the commander passed by their table, and by the way her lips parted at the sight of him Camniel knew they were on the same page.


	8. Quite the Ride II (Artanis, Iron Bull & Camniel)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be the last post of the summer for now. I’ve got exams coming up (and a new major to decide upon), so I’ll be occupied until early September. No worries though, I’m kind of working on a longer, more narrative driven version of my Inquisition posts. So I won’t be sitting still.

‘You know,’ The Iron Bull casually leaned over the fence of the sparring area, coming close as if to tell her a great secret. ‘I really _do_ like redheads.’

Artanis burst out in laughter, abandoning the spell she was demonstrating and startling the young Mage children seated at her feet.

Bull waited for her to regain her composure before continuing. ‘And you have the reddest hair of them all, Knight-Enchanter.’

‘And the least interested mindset too, I’m afraid.’ She added, a smile curling her scarred lips.

Bull sighed dramatically. ‘One cannot have it all, I suppose.’

 ** _‘Now, now.’_** Artanis teased as she resumed a less damaging form of the spell. ‘One should never be blind to the possibilities.’

She released the spell, which careened over the enclosure towards the shooting range, where Camniel Lavellan was thrown to the ground with an indignant yelp.

The Iron Bull’s gaze drifted to the stand-offish elf that had skillfully evaded him every evening he showed up at the tavern, considering the possibility.

He acknowledged Artanis’ satisfied smile. ‘It’s a thought to hold onto, Knight-Enchanter.’


	9. The Benefits of Robes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be the last post of the summer for now. I’ve got exams coming up (and a new major to decide upon), so I’ll be occupied until early September. No worries though, I’m kind of working on a longer, more narrative driven version of my Inquisition posts. So I won’t be sitting still.

It took Artanis Trevelyan exactly ten years, a military career and a gorgeous ex-templar pressing her into the wall, to figure out why so many Mages preferred robes.

There she was with her – otherwise elusive – lover enthusiastically mouthing away at her colar-bone, and the most movement she could get in her frustratingly tight leather breeches was awkwardly hooking a leg around his. _Very smooth, Trevelyan, I’m sure he’ll treasure the memory of this rendez-vous forever._

“You are thinking way too much.” Cullen grumbled into her ear, tongue flicking out to trace the sensitive shell and lobe.

Artanis shivered and melted to a puddle almost simultaneously, answering in a whine: ‘I can’t move, Cullen!’

Immediately his warm presence disappeared from her front. Artanis blinked dazedly the change, head still swimming.

‘I’m sorry.’ Cullen stumbled, a sheepish set to his shoulders. ‘This was entirely out of line… I-I’ll go now.’

With dawning horror she watched him scramble backwards towards the office door. Oh no way in hell he could get her hot and bothered and then slink away like a thief in the night.  

‘It’s not you.’ She gestured widely at her legs. ‘It’s the breeches!’

Maker bless the commander. The faint blush creeping up on his cheekbones as he picked up on her intentions made her heart sing. ‘Oh… I see.’

‘Do you now.’ She send him a coy smile, spreading her legs just a tiny bit more.

Cullen breathed in sharply. His hands came to rest upon her hips, smile gradually turning from embarrassment to the teasing smirk she held so dear.

“Well, in that case, Lady Enchanter.’ He inched even closer, easily scooping her back up into his embrace. ‘Should I call Sera to relieve you of them, or shall I do the disrobing myself?’

Maker, she could love this silly man.

Hungrily she drew him back in for a kiss and guided his hands to where they should busy themselves.


End file.
